An Unexpected Burglar
by jepenner
Summary: She's not sure how she did it, but somehow Eir managed to convince Gandalf and Thorin to allow her to accompany them on the quest to take back Erabor. She's hardly a warrior, and there's a steep learning curve in front of her. But Bilbo needs a friend, and the dark-haired, reckless looking dwarf is really quite handsome... adapted from my oneshots published on imaginexhobbit.tumbl
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Eir slipped out of the house, tears welling in her eyes. Another blazing row between her sister, Ona, and their parents. Harsh words were said, doors were slammed. And Eir, after years of listening to it all and powerless to bring calm, had had enough. She needed to get out.

She closed the front door behind her and set off up the lane. But where could she go? She had no best friend, no kindred spirit to talk to.

Bilbo Baggins from under the hill seemed nice enough, and Eir knew he was fond of visitors. Even though it was dinner time, Eir had decided to take her chances. She trudged up the hill, hastily wiping the tears away. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She wasn't terribly close with Bilbo, but he'd only ever been kind to her – and at any rate, she needn't go into details. She'd just tell him she needed some air and had decided to drop by for a visit.

Doing her best to put on a happy face, she raised her hand to ring the bell, but stopped short – the door was slightly open, as though it had been shut, but hadn't latched properly. She pushed in, and nearly gasped out loud.

Bilbo Baggins was staring vexedly at two dwarves.

One was even taller than Eir; he was totally bald, with tattoos on his head and an enormous fur pelt on his shoulders. He had a long scar covering the top of his forehead down to his left eyebrow, and part of his left ear looked as though it had been bitten off. A tufty mustache melded into a bushy brown beard, and Eir couldn't help but be a little intimidated at his wearing _knuckle dusters_. This _was _the Shire, after all.

This self-same imposing dwarf was talking jovially to a white-haired, merry-faced dwarf with glittering black eyes and red cheeks, who reminded Eri of Father Christmas. He was dressed in a red tunic and brown boots with toes that curled up, just like his long, white beard did at the ends.

"You're shorter and wider than last we met!"

The white-haired dwarf gave him a look.

"Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for both of us!" he winked.

The two brothers stood looking at each other and chuckling fondly, clapping each other on the shoulder.

Then, without warning, the two head-butted each other with an audible _thunk._

Eir, who had not expected this rather violent form of greeting, yelped in surprise and clapped both hands over her mouth. Bilbo turned, saw her, and jumped.

"Goodness me!" he said in surprise.

There was a _girl _standing quite inexplicably on his welcome mat. He'd seen her about Hobbiton and at the grocer's stall… what was her name? Emmy? No, that wasn't it… Ann?

Eir looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Bilbo, I didn't realize you were expecting guests –"

Bilbo looked at her, confused. He was evidently, _not_ expecting company.

"I'm sorry, it's – I mean, I know we're more acquaintances than friends, but I – at home, they – I had to get out of the house, and I knew from Mr. Worrywart that you were fond of visitors, and…" She finally stammered herself quiet, hardly knowing where to begin. One didn't talk of family troubles amongst strangers, after all.

"Master Baggins, who is this?" demanded the taller dwarf.

Eir was slightly cross at that – there was no reason to be rude to Bilbo Baggins. The rudest _he'd_ ever been was failing to shake her hand one afternoon when they'd met in the street, and that had been because he'd had his arms full of produce from the market. He'd nodded politely and smiled at her, nonetheless.

"My name is Eir. I live just down the way. Who are you?"

"Dwalin." Said the taller dwarf gruffly.

"And Balin," added the white haired dwarf, who appeared to be his brother. "At your service!" he smiled merrily, spread his arms, and bowed from the waist.

"Good evening," Eir said politely.

"Yes, yes it is!" said Balin pleasantly. "Though as I was just saying to Mr. Baggins, I think it might rain later-"

"Gandalf never mentioned a girl coming," said Dwalin.

"Gandalf?" asked Eir. She knew who Gandalf was – she'd seen his quite excellent fireworks when she was a child, and hadn't forgotten the wizard who created them. As though anyone could forget Gandalf the Grey once they had met him!

"Coming to what?" asked Bilbo.

But the two dwarves apparently hadn't heard – they were making their way over to Bilbo's extensive pantry.

"Uh, excuse me?" Bilbo was stammering, trailing after them. "I hate to interrupt, but the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house."

The dwarves paid him no heed.

"Have you eaten?" Dwalin asked his brother, filling a tankard of ale.

"It's not that I don't like visitors," Bilbo blundered on, "I like visitors as much as the next hobbit, but I do like to know them before they come visiting." Still, the dwarves ignored him. He looked at Eir who shrugged, not knowing what to do.

"What's this?" asked Dwalin.

"I don't know," answered Balin. "I think it's supposed to be cheese."

Dwalin snorted.

"It's gone blue -riddled with mold."

"Uh, the thing is," Bilbo went on, "I don't know any of you. Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, but I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry," he said, holding up his hands.

Dwalin and Balin both turned to look at him.

"Apology accepted," Balin said, adopting a kindly look on his face.

Both Bilbo and Eir looked stunned. Balin turned back to his Dwalin, handing him a tankard.

"oh, now fill it up, brother, don't stint –"

"Gentlemen," Eir ventured. Both dwarves turned and looked at her. Balin looked polite, but Dwalin looked irritated at the interruption.

"Please excuse Mr. Bilbo, it's just," she paused gathering her thoughts, "I don't think he knows why it is that you're here."

"Ah, lass," said Balin kindly, "that's a long story. And dwarves never tell a tale of any length on an empty stomach. Once we've all had some supper, we'll explain everything, don't you worry."

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

Bilbo turned and went down the hall to answer it. Eir followed him, curious, but looked back at the two dwarves still muttering to themselves in Bilbo's pantry. Balin was saying, "I could eat again, if you insist…"

Bilbo opened the door, and Eir turned and saw _two more_ dwarves.

These were considerably younger than the two who were now encamped in Bilbo's pantry. One was fair-haired, with braids in his hair and what Eir had to concede was a very impressive mustache. Next to him stood a dark-haired, scruffy-faced dwarf, more reckless looking, with the same clever dark eyes and strong jawline. Eir surmised that they were brothers. Both were really quite handsome.

"Fili," said the fair-haired one,

"And Kili," echoed the other,

"At your service," they chorused, bowing.

They straightened again, and both grinned, their friendly eyes full of kindness –and just a hint of mischeif.

"You must be Mr. Boggins!" exclaimed the dark-haired one to Bilbo. Eir couldn't help smiling at the child-like earnestness on the dwarf's face, and Bilbo's expression. He, clearly, had had enough of dwarves.

"Nope! You can't come in – you've come to the wrong house –"

He made to close the door, but Kili (or was it Fili?) stuck his foot in the way.

"What? Has it been cancelled?" he asked, looking genuinely horrified at the prospect.

"No one told us," said Fili (though it might have been Kili), his brow furrowed, looking between his brother and Bilbo.

"Can – no, nothing's been cancelled," Bilbo said.

"Well, that's a relief!" the scruffy dwarf looked overjoyed, and pushed in. Bilbo stumbled backwards, and the blonde strode in behind his brother. Both of them were surveying Bilbo's hobbit-hole with interest, but then the dark-haired dwarf stopped quite suddenly and stared at Eir, his eyes wide. He looked temporarily incapable of speech. Eir felt her cheeks growing red under his scrutiny, and decided to distract herself by looking elsewhere.

"Careful with these," the blonde dwarf said, dumping two swords and a knife into Bilbo's arms, "I just had 'em sharpened."

Eir felt her eyes grow wide. People did not walk about in the Shire with this many weapons – this dwarf was proving to be nothing short of a mobile armory.

"It's nice, this place," said Kili. Or was his name Fili? At all events, he seemed to have recovered from whatever had made him loose his composure.

"Did you do it yourself?" he asked. He began to wipe the mud off his boots by scraping them on a nearby wooden chest. Eir was shocked. Picking through the larder was one thing; defacing a hope chest was quite another.

"What? No," Bilbo stammered, trying to avoid cutting himself as the blond dwarf unstrapped still more weapons, "it's been in the family for years –"

"That's his mother's glory box! Could you please not do that?" she snapped. Didn't he know to wipe his boots _before_ he came into the house?

He blushed and stammered for a few seconds, reminding Eir of a gaping fish, then broke into what he surely considered was a very charming smile.

"You must be Mrs. Boggins!" he bowed again. "Kili, at your service!"

She and Bilbo both blushed, but Eir maintained her composure.

"Thank you, Master Dwarf," she said, " but we're not married. Mr. _Baggins" _(she emphasized the _a_, hoping to correct Kili in as polite a way as possible) "is merely a friend."

"Oh." He paused a moment, frowning slightly, then asked bluntly, "who are you?" Apparently, it was not the custom of dwarves to beat about the bush.

She never got to tell him, because Dwalin called for Fili and Kili.

"Come on, give us a hand," he said, clapping Kili on the shoulder.

"Mister Dwalin!" Kili greeted him.

The two walked over to where Balin and Dwalin were standing in Bilbo's dining room.

"Let's shove this in the hall," said Balin, "otherwise we'll never get anyone in."

"Everyone? How many more are there?" asked Bilbo, who was staggering under the weight of all of Kili's weapons.

The bell rang again.

"Oh, no. No, no no no! There's nobody home!" cried Bilbo, now clearly upset by the commotion. He dumped the weapons with a clatter on the floor in the hall and marched angrily to the door.

"Bilbo, it's alright, I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation," Eir said, trying to soothe his temper.

"Go away and bother somebody else!" he cried, clearly beyond consolation. "There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If this is some clot-head's idea of a joke, well, I can only say, it is in very poor taste!"

He opened the large green door, and six dwarves fell all over each other with a groan onto the welcome mat, shoving and griping at each other.

"Get off, ya big lump!"

" Will you stop shoving!"

"Ow!"

Eir eyes grew wide as a tall man bent his head and looked into Bilbo's house. He wore a grey robe, and had a grey beard and a grey hat. His blue eyes were wise, but had a spark of mischief left.

"Gandalf." Bilbo said, exasperated.

Before either of them could blink, the dwarves had popped up, nodded to Bilbo, eyed Eir with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, and placed their belongings on the pegs in the hall, and were rummaging through Bilbo's impressive pantry.

Eir, who had been largely ignored all this while, decided to stay quiet and observe the proceedings, which were proving quite amusing, now that ground rules had been set regarding muddy boots.

Bilbo, who had decided that these unexpected visitors would be better dealt with if he were properly dressed, came out of his room to find a procession of dwarves carrying various items of food and drink out of his pantry.

"That's my chicken!" Bilbo exclaimed as a particularly rotund dwarf passed carrying enormous platter with a whole, dressed chicken on it. Dwalin passed carrying a basket full of red and yellow tomatoes, and a dwarf with an ax – an ax! – in his head was carrying a corked jug of wine. Bilbo was indignant.

"That's my wine – excuse me!"

The dwarf turned and, with a wild look in his eyes, pointed to the ax and said something Eir couldn't understand. She and Bilbo watched the dwarf walk away, bewildered. Then another grey-bearded dwarf came up behind them.

"He's got, er, an injury," he said, by way of explanation.

"What you mean the ax in his head?" Bilbo asked.

The dwarf held up an ear trumpet – he was obviously hard of hearing.

"Dead? Oh, no, only between his ears. His legs work fine."

Eir had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Poor Bilbo looked so bewildered and lost that she was finding it hard not to laugh at him as he stammered out his protestations to the dwarves to put his food back. The dwarves, she decided, were a harmless bunch, if perhaps like bulls in a china shop.

She nearly laughed out loud when the rotund dwarf came out of Bilbo's pantry carrying three enormous cheeses.

"Excuse me, er, that's a tad excessive, isn't it? Have you got a cheese knife?" Bilbo asked.

"Cheese knife?" asked a dwarf with a fur-lined hat with flaps that stuck out madly on either side of his head. "He eats it by the block!"

Bilbo was now protesting against the use of Grandpa Mungo's chair, claiming that it was an antique, and not for sitting on.

Eir wandered into the dining room, where the dwarves were beginning to congregate. A young, baby-faced dwarf was setting out plates and rubbing them with his sleeve, Gandalf was helping set the table. The young dwarf caught sight of Eria, who smiled at him in an attempt to be friendly. The poor dwarf turned absolutely magenta and stared at the table cloth.

A grey-haired dwarf with an elaborate hairdo came up behind him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Gandalf," he said politely, "may I tempt you with a cup of chamomile?" he began to pour tea into earthenware mugs.

"Oh, no thank you, Dori," said Gandalf. "A little red wine, for me, I think."

He caught sight of Eir watching this exchange and winked. She couldn't help but smile back – Gandalf had a grandfatherly air about him, but also something else- an undercurrent of power. That was to be expected, Eir reasoned. He was a _wizard_, after all was said.

Gandalf left the dining room, and Eir cringed as he hit his head on the chandelier. He began to look round him, and count off the dwarves on his fingers.

"Fili, Kili," he nodded at them as they passed by carrying a barrel of ale, "Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori, Ori!" he said jovially, just as Bilbo was trying to wrestle a basket of ripe tomato's out of Ori's hands with a fierce "not _my_ prizewinners, thank you!"

The ax-head dwarf came out of nowhere, and spoke in the same strange language to Gandalf as he had before, slapping his forearm in what Eir thought might have been an obscene gesture.

She needn't have worried, though, because Gandalf calmly said, "ah, yes, you're quite right, Bifur." He turned and winked at her again, and then said to himself, "we appear to be one dwarf short."

"He is late is all; he travelled north to a meeting of our kin," said Dwalin, who was calmly leaning against the wall and nursing a flagon of ale. "He will come."

The elaborate-haired dwarf appeared at Gandalf's elbow.

"Mr. Gandalf? A little glass of red wine, as requested. It's got a rather fruity boquet," he said, as though trying to impress with his knowledge of Shire wines.

Gandalf thanked him and cheered him, and tossed the tiny glass of wine down.

The dwarves all piled into the dining room, and Gandalf and Eir followed and took places at the table. Eir found herself seated between the Balin and the ear-trumpet dwarf. Balin smiled at her warmly, and she decided to venture a question.

"Mr. Balin, who are all these people?"

"Why, the company, of course!" Balin spread his arms.

At that moment, the room had gone very quiet, and Balin ended his sentence in dead silence. All eyes turned to Eir and Balin.

"Who is that?" asked one of the dwarves; Eir couldn't tell who.

"_What_ is that?"

"It's a girl, you numpty!"

"What's she doing here?"

"What's her name?"

"Is she coming too?"

Eir could feel her face turning red from all the attention and the rapid-fire questions.

Gandalf cleared his throat.

"I believe introductions are in order. Miss Eir of the Shire, may I present the dwarves of Erabor: Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Nori, Dori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur,"

He gestured to each dwarf in turn as he spoke, and each dwarf nodded at (y/n) as they were pointed out. He'd gone through the dwarve's names so fast that Eir wasn't sure she'd caught them all. But before she could ask for clarification, she was cut off.

"Let's eat," spoke up Dwalin, "the food's getting cold!"

The dwarves dug into their feast with gusto– and oh, what a feast it was! Chicken and ham and sausages and smoked herrings and boiled eggs and potatoes and roasted tomatoes and bread with butter and honey and cheeses and ale and wine and garden vegetables. There were seed cakes and pies and radishes and good fall apples and cherries and even, somehow, mandarin oranges. Eir supposed that Bilbo must have come from money – mandarin oranges were only found in the finest houses of the Shire, or in places of great renown, like Rivendell.

She didn't have much time to dwell on this; dwarves, as it turned out, liked a feast, and a food-fight even better.

Balin whispered to her that on major festival days, a feast was not considered a success unless there were at least five food-fights scattered throughout.

Bofur held up an egg and called, "Bombur, catch!"

He threw the egg, and Bombur caught it whole in his mouth. The table erupted in cheers. Food was passed along the tables several times. As the night wore on the ale flowed freely, and the dwarves began to feel the affects – Fili – or was it Kili? – actually walked along the table, passing out mugs of ale to those who needed another. Dwalin poured a measure of ale down Oin's ear trumpet.

"Have another drink!" he insisted. "there ya go!"

Oin looked at his ear trumpet, bewildered, then, to raucus cheers from the dwarves, put his lips to it and blew the ale out the other end. It splashed the other dwarves across from him, and Eir threw back her head and laughed.

This merriment was such a welcome change from her state of mind an hour earlier – this was like how a family should be, she thought, looking up and down the table at the merry faces. She caught sight of the young, scruffy-faced dwarf looking at her. He resembled his fair-haired brother, but was a bit taller. His eyes were a kind, warm brown, and held a spark of mischief identical to his brothers.

She smiled shyly at him. He smiled back and raised his tankard of ale to her. She nodded back in acknowledgement.

"To dinner!" cried one dwarf, holding up his tankard of ale.

"On the count of three!" cried another, and the dwarves all toasted the meal, their host, and themselves.

"One, two, three!"

The table fell silent as every last dwarf began guzzling down his ale, paying no heed to manners at all – it dribbled down their beards and onto the table, even splashing on the floor.

Then, to Eir's horror, the belching started.

Each dwarf tried to show what Eir could only surmise was a dwarven standard of skill, and Ori gave a long, loud belch that went on for at least five full seconds. The dwarves cheered again, as though this were a mark of particular distinction.

"I knew ya had it in you!" said Dori proudly.

Eventually the dwarves grew full, and meandered into other areas of Bag End to stretch their legs. Bilbo was still fretting over his possessions, which the dwarves were eyeing curiously.

"That is a doily, not a dish cloth!"

"But it's full of holes," said Bofur.

"It's supposed to be like that, it's crochet."

"Oh, and a wonderful game it is, too – if you've got the balls for it," said the dwarf, winking at Eir, who snorted into her cup of tea at the joke. Then she blushed, realizing she'd been most unladylike; nice girls weren't supposed to laugh at jokes like that, let alone _snort into their tea_. Balin took one look at her face and laughed – a full, hearty, from-the-belly laugh. Eir relaxed. She was beginning to think that dwarves were likely not terribly concerned with decorum.

Bilbo, meanwhile was nearly squeaking with exasperation while Gandalf listened and tried not to smile.

"Look at the state of my kitchen! There's mud trod into the carpet, they've pillaged the pantry; I'm not even going to tell you what they've done in the bathroom- they've all but destroyed the plumbing! I _don't understand what they're doing in my house_!"

"S'cuse me," piped up the youngest dwarf – what was his name? Ori? – "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

Before Bilbo could respond, the blond dwarf appeared at Bilbo's elbow.

"Here ya go, Ori, give it to me."

He took the plate from Ori and threw it – threw it! – to his brother, who caught it, pivoted on the spot, and tossed it to the ax-head dwarf, who took up a dish cloth and set to scrubbing the plate clean.

Soon the air was full of flying crockery and Eir had to press up against the wall to avoid being clonked in the head by a flying dish.

"That's my mother's westfarthing crockery – it's over a hundred years old!" Bilbo cried.

Dwarves in the dining room began beating out a rhythm with the silverware, stomping their feet under the table to give cadence.

"Can you not do that?" shouted Bilbo. "You'll blunt them!"

"Oooh, do ya hear that, lads?" asked Bofur, with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "He says we'll blunt the knives!"

The dwarves carried on their rhythm as the young scruffy-faced dwarf broke into song:

"_Blunt the knives, bend the forks!"_

_His brother picked up the next line: _

"_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!"_

_All the dwarves joined in:_

"_Chip the glasses and crack the plates – _

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"_

More utensils, silverware, and crockery began to fly through the air, in a tall stack in Ori's arms as the dwarves continued the song:

"_Cut the cloth, tread on the fat,_

_leave the bones on the bedroom mat,_

_ pour the milk on the pantry floor,_

_splash the wine on every door!"_

Ori tottered off into the kitchen, nervously balancing an enormous stack of dirty dishes. Kili flung a plate at his brother, whose back was turned, but the fair-haired dwarf merely turned his head a fraction and caught the plate before it hit him in the head. A fork flew towards the ax-head dwarf, who caught it just before it speared him in the eye. The dwarves in the dining room passed plates to Bombur for his inspection. If there was a scrap of food left on them, he wiped it off and shoved it into his mouth.

"_dump the corks in a boiling bowl,_

_pound them up with a thumping pole,_

_when you're finished, if any are whole,_

_send 'em down the hall to roll!"_

Eir laughed out loud as a bored looking Balin used a plate to flip errant crockery towards the dwarves in the hall. Gandalf was laughing too, and Eir had to duck as three teacups went flying over her head. Bofur was playing his flute, and Oin had commandeered a teapot and was using it as a wind instrument.

With a last rattle of crockery, the dwarves finished with a final cry of,

"_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"_

Eir may or may not have joined in the last line.

At all events, it was an amusing sight to see Bilbo Baggins shove his way into his kitchen, ready to really lay down the law, only to see a gleaming stack of clean dishes waiting for him on the table. The dwarves were laughing and Eir joined in.

Bilbo gave her a look.

"I'm sorry to laugh, Bilbo," she giggled, "but they _did _clean up after themselves!"

The laughter continued, and she caught sight of Kili looking at her again. She felt her face turn slightly pink.

But the merriment was cut short when three sharp knocks sounded at the door.

Gandalf's expression turned serious.

"He is here."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Who is here?" asked Eir

"Oh, no…" moaned Bilbo. He looked done to death by these dwarves.

But he wouldn't have been able to deny this newcomer entrance even if he had wanted to. All of the dwarves rushed to the door, and Bilbo was caught up in the melee.

He looked at Eir, who shrugged apologetically.

"I suppose you'd better let him in, Bilbo."

The large door creaked open to reveal a very distinguished looking dwarf indeed. His dark hair was long and shot through with streaks of grey, and his hair had two braids on either side of his face held together with silver clasps.

"Gandalf," he said, a look of wry politeness on his face. His voice was deep and serious, as though he were used to issuing orders and having them obeyed.

"I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he said as he walked into the hobbit-hole.

"I lost my way. Twice." He nodded a greeting to the dwarves gathered in Bilbo's front parlor and in the hall. They bowed deeply.

"I would not have found it at all, if it had not been for that mark on the door." He unclasped his cloak, smiling fondly at the dwarves gathered in Bilbo's hallway. Gandalf shut the door.

"Mark?" spoke up Bilbo. "There's no mark on that door – it was painted a week ago!"

"There is a mark. I put it there myself," Gandalf told Bilbo in a placating tone. He looked between Bilbo and Thorin.

"Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce he leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin fixed Bilbo with an intense stare.

"So. This is the hobbit."

He began to walk around Bilbo, studying him. Eir felt bad for Bilbo – he looked very uncomfortable.

"Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Er – pardon me?" Bilbo looked shocked.

"Ax or Sword – what's your weapon of choice?"

Biblo looked rather proud as he announced, "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know."

The dwarves sniggered.

"But I fail to see how that's relevant," Bilbo stammered, aware that he was the object of a joke, but he was far too polite to call anyone out.

Thorin's expression turned self-satisfied.

"I thought as much," he said, smirking.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The dwarves began to laugh.

Eir had had enough – the whole conversation smacked of disrespect, if not outright bullying, and she wouldn't stand for either. She drew herself up to her full height. These dwarves had taken quite enough advantage of Bilbo's hospitality, and it was time for an explanation.

"If you're looking for a grocer, I know one," she said icily. She had no idea what was causing her to speak out of turn like this to someone who was obviously quite important, but she didn't care.

"My family's got a stall just down the way from the Green Dragon. We're open Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Thorin stopped. He turned, and fixed her with an icy glare.

"Gandalf did not mention a _girl_ coming to this meeting."

Gandalf hemmed a bit, clearning his throat, and hastened an introduction.

"Thorin Oakenshield, this is Eir of the Shire. She's –"

"I'm Bilbo's neighbor," Eir cut in. She crossed her arms and stared boldly back at a glowering Thorin.

"I was paying him a visit when a bunch of dwarves invaded his house without any explanation. Mister Balin has promised me a full account of the reasons why, and I'm curious to hear them."

"And why should we explain anything about ourselves to you?" Thorin snarled.

"No reason at all," Eir said lightly, hardly believing her own daring. She had never been this sarcastic to anyone in her life.

"But since you won't explain yourselves to your own host," she continued, "I'm curious who you _will _explain yourselves to, since Gandalf clearly won't do anything to enlighten us." She glared at him. Gandalf looked as though he didn't know whether to be irritated or amused by her.

Thorin scowled.

Balin, sensing the building tension, spoke up.

"Why don't we all sit down," he said pleasantly, "we can get some supper into Thorin, and explain our presence here, as promised."

Within fifteen minutes, the dwarves were crowded around Bilbo's kitchen table again. Thorin took the head of the table as though it were his due, and Eir squeezed in between Balin and Gloin.

"What new of the meeting at Ered Luin?" asked Balin. "Did they all come?"

"Aye," answered Thorin, "Envoys from all seven kingdoms."

"And what did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" Balin asked.

Thorin sighed heavily.

"They will not come."

There was disappointed grumbling among the dwarves – Eir guessed that they had hoped for more aid in – well, in whatever it was.

"They say this quest is ours and ours alone," said Thorin.

The dwarves looked disappointed, but Dori looked affronted.

Bilbo beat Eir to her question:

"You're going on a quest?"

There was a pause. Apparently, this would require a long explanation.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow – let us have a little more light," Gandalf said tactfully. As Bilbo went in search of candles, Gandalf pulled out a worn map from his pocket and spread it on the table.

"Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak," he began.

"What's the Lonely Mountain?" asked Eir.

Balin took a deep breath.

"Well, it's like this, lass – The Lonely Mountain is the entryway to the dwarf kingdom of Erebor. Years ago, when Thorin's grandfather Thrain ruled under the mountain, a fire-drake named Smaug attacked. The entire city was destroyed, and Erebor's inhabitants were displaced, including Thorin. He and his family had to find a life for themselves elsewhere, in the Iron Hills."

Eir was horrified – no wonder Thorin seemed so gruff. His home destroyed by a dragon, his family displaced for years. She began putting two and two together.

"And you want to go and reclaim your home," she said slowly. "Your meeting in, sorry, I think you said it was called Erid Luin?"

Balin nodded.

"You asked for help from your kin, and they refused." Eir felt her throat tighten. She knew exactly how it felt to have little support from family members.

The table was quiet for a moment.

"I am sorry for it," said Eir quietly. "For all of it."

"Thank you, lass," said Balin, patting her hand.

Eir turned her attention back to the map.

"So, the Lonely Mountain."

"Aye," said Gloin. "Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time." Other dwarves were rolling their eyes (portents were apparently a common topic of discussion from Oin).

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain," Oin spoke up, "as was foretold: 'when the birds of yore return to Erabor, the reign of the beast will end."

Bilbo spoke up nervously.

"Beast, what beast?"

Eir nearly rolled her eyes. Had he not heard what Balin had said?

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible; chiefest and greatest calamity of our age," said Bofur in a pleasantly sarcastic sort of way.

Gandalf was watching Bilbo nervously, but the rest of the dwarves all looked grimly determined.

Bilbo's expression remained blank. Bofur blundered on a description:

"Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat-hooks, extremely fond of precious metals-"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo cut him off nervously.

The young, baby-faced dwarf stood.

"I'm not afraid," he cried bravely, "I'm up for it! I'll give him a taste of the dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!"

The dwarves grumbled a reply, divided as to their attitudes regarding his outburst – a dwarf with a hairstyle like a starfish shouted, "Good lad, Ori!", but the fussy, grey-haired dwarf with elaborate hair pulled Ori's sweater and snarled, "Sit down!"

Ori sat, looking cowed into submission by his brother.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," said Balin, "but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

The dwarves began to grumble again. The younger dwarves looked affronted, and someone even called out, "'Ere! Who're you calling dim?"

"Sorry," said Oin, "what'd he say?"

The blond dwarf finally slapped his hand on the table to get everyone's attention and Eir jumped.

"We may be few in number," he cried, "but we're fighters – all of us, to the last dwarf!"

Eir privately decided she would need a bit more explanation regarding Ori's feats of bravery.

"And you forget," Kili – or was it FIli? – chimed in, "We have a wizard in our company! Gandalf would have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

Eir doubted this as well – Gandalf was known in the shire for his fireworks, not his dragon-killing capabilities. Though, she didn't want to doubt him – he was a wizard, after all.

"Oh," stammered Gandalf, "I – I wouldn't say –"

"How many then?" piped up the elaborate-haired dwarf.

"Hm?"

"How many dragons have you killed?"

"Er, well, I –" Gandalf faked a coughing fit.

"Go on, give us a number!"

The dwarves dissolved into shouting.

"Hey, no, please, no fighting –" Eir tried to bring calm. But she might as well have said nothing at all, for the dwarves couldn't hear her over the shouting.

"NO MORE!" Thorin bellowed above the din. The dwarves were silenced immediately.

Thorin stood and glared at the company.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think that others would have read them too?" he eyed Eir suspiciously.

The dwarves looked abashed.

"Rumors have begun to spread," Thorin continued, "The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, and weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours, or do we seize this chance to take back Erabor?"

The dwarves cheered and raised their tankards of ale at this rallying speech, and Eir could not help but be impressed.

"But you forget the front gate is sealed," said Balin. Eir looked at him. He was practical, to be sure, but she was beginning to think he was just a tad the glass-half-empty type. "There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf spoke up. Seemingly out of thin air, he produced a heavy-looking key.

Thorin looked wonder-struck.

"How came you by this?" he demanded quietly.

"It was given to me by your father," said Gandalf, "For safekeeping. It is yours now."

Eir felt a sense of weighty occasion as Gandalf handed Thorin the key.

After a while, the blond dwarf spoke up. Eir cringed inwardly – she really did need to buckle down and learn these dwarve's names.

"If there is a key, then there must be a door."

Gandalf nodded. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls."

The dark-haired dwarf clapped his brother on the back.

"There's another way in," he said, a look of quiet excitement on his face.

"If we can find it," said Gandalf, "but dwarf doors are invisible when closed."

Eir nearly rolled her eyes. Why would anyone make something so impractical?

Gandalf sighed. "The answer lies somewhere hidden in this map. I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in middle earth who do."

"EIR!"

She jumped, her eyes wide.

"Give the map to Eir! See if she can read it!"

The map was shoved in her face, and Eir fumbled with it a moment before she was able to lay it on the table.

She looked around at the dwarves, who were looking back at her expectantly. Ori was wide-eyed, and Oin had leaned forward, jamming his ear trumpet into his ear as far as it would go. Even the very rotund dwarf with a beard like a donut had stopped chewing. Knowing perfectly well that she would likely not be able to read the runes, she took a deep breath and looked at the map.

The runes were red and boxy, in a strange, block-like configuration. She couldn't read it.

She hesitated – she dreaded the look of disappointment on the dwarves' faces when she had to tell them. Too much was at stake to walk into something like this without as much information as possible. She found, curiously, that she wanted desperately to help them, and loathed the idea of bringing them any kind of disappointment. Reluctantly, she shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't read it."

the dwarves visibly deflated.

Eir blushed with embarassment.

"Don't worry, lass," said Balin quietly. "We're no worse off than we were before." He patted her hand.

Gandalf went back to business.

"the task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage." He looked at Eir and Bilbo.

Bilbo stared back.

" But if we are careful and clever," Gandalf continued, "I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" piped up Ori.

_Hang on…. A burglar? _

"Hmm," Bilbo agreed. "A good one too. An expert, I would imagine."

"And are you?" asked Oin.

"Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert!" Oin announced triumphantly. The dwarf next to him looked at him as though he were mad. He wasn't mad, Eir knew – only deaf, the poor chap.

Bilbo began stammering.

"No, I'm not a burglar! I"ve never stolen anything in my life!"

"I'm afraid I'd have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material," said Balin.

"I could help!" Eir blurted out.

The room went completely silent.

"I could help!" she said again. She had no idea where this was coming from, but it was too late to back out now.

"I want to help – I could – I could be insurance!" she said, though the argument sounded weak even to her.

Thorin raised one eyebrow.

"I could be insurance! I could take his place something were to happen to Bilbo – not that we would ever _wish _calamity on him," she hastened to add.

"it will be dangerous, and we need good fighters," said Balin.

Eir nodded. Dragons weren't a joke, and neither was a trek to the Blue Mountains, either. She didn't know the first thing about fighting, but she was willing to learn.

"What sorts of things can you do?"

"Er…"

"yes?"

All of the dwarves were looking at her expectantly.

"I can cook," she offered. Grumbling filled the room, but the particularly rotund dwarf gave a nod of satisfaction.

"I could mend clothes."

More grumbling.

"Um… I could… I could help when people get injured!"

"Do you know your remedies, lass?"

"A fair few. Chamomile and peppermint for stomach aches, feverfew for headaches, poppy for coughs, Athelas for-"

"Lass, have you ever sewn up a wound?" Oin eyed her critically. Eir knew from his tone that he didn't mean it as a reflection on her abilities, but as a warning of what she might be required to do.

"Er…no…" she admitted, her face turning red. "But I'm willing to learn…"

The grumbling reached an even more fevered pitch. Eir stole a glance at Thorin, who looked as though he were positively seething.

"Oh, please, don't send me away!" she begged. " I want to help, truly! There's nothing for me here, there really isn't. I promise it's not for wanting to go off on a lark, or anything like that, it really isn't, but I'm so desperate to get out of my parents house, you've no idea what it's like, the constant bickering and fighting and pressuring me to get married. And I guess I would be, if I weren't too plain and self willed, but I'm smart, and I'm brave, and I'm strong, and I work hard and I learn fast! I promise I won't hold you up, and I'll learn anything, and do anything you ask of me, but please, let me come too!" she broke off her tirade, slightly breathless and pink in the face. She'd probably told them far more information about her personal life than they needed to know.

Dwalin spoke up.

"Ah, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves."

The dwarves gave their opinions.

"Quite right, Dwalin."

"Nah, they'll manage just fine –"

the dwarves descended into bickering once again.

Suddenly the room grew dark and cold. Gandalf stood up and shouted at them, seeming ten times as large as he really was.

"Enough! If is say that Bilbo Baggins is a burglar than a burglar he is!" cried Gandalf. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. As for Eir, she has been kind enough to offer her help, and given the meeting at Ered Luin, I'm not sure you're in any position to turn her down! Smaug is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of shire-folk is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage!"

He fixed Thorin with a glare. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company. Well, I have found fifteen. I have chosen Miss Eir and Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to them than appearances suggest. Both of them have a great deal more to offer than any of you know – including themselves!"

Eir was looking at Gandalf, a small smile on her face. No one had ever, in her life, stood up for her in the way he had just done.

"Very well," said Thorin darkly. "We'll do it your way. Give them the contract."

"It's just the usual," said Balin pleasantly, "Out of pocket expenses, time required…"

A pot of ink and a pen were brought, and Eir dipped the pen and then signed her name without even reading it.

There it was, _Miss Eir Blomgren,_ underneath fourteen other signatures – including Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin. She was part of the Company now.

* * *

><p>Kili watched the young woman sitting before him with interest. She was not a hobbit- that much was certain. Her feet were nowhere nearly as big as Mr. Baggins – he mentally kicked himself for his slip of the name; Fili would never let him live <em>Mr. Boggins<em> down – and she wore boots, besides. She was nearly Mr. Baggins' height.

She was sitting on a stool near their host, and was talking to him quietly. Bilbo had been so taken aback by the fine print of the contract that he'd fainted dead away, and Eir had been obliged to make a very strong cup of tea. She and Gandalf were, from the snatches of conversation that Kili could overhear, trying in vain to convince Bilbo to accompany them on their journey.

Her hair was a non-descript but pleasant sort of brown color, and fell down her back in soft curls reaching nearly to her waist. Her eyes were blue; not large, but joyous and intelligent. Her cheeks were a pleasant, healthy pink, and she had a round, friendly face that was made for warm smiles. Her conference in the dining room a few moments before had reassured him that she was perhaps a bit inexperienced, but earnest. She spoke kindly to Bilbo and Gandalf, and he wondered if she was like that with everyone. She'd been a bit short with him earlier, but he supposed he'd deserved it – but how was he to know that it was a glory box? His stomach did a slight flip-flop as he watched her walk past him and into the kitchen.

Kili waited a few moments, and then followed her. She was setting out teacups and placing a kettle on to boil.

She jumped slightly at the figure in the doorway, but then relaxed, smiling at him.

He nodded at her.

"Good evening," he said, unsure of how to proceed.

"Good evening," she said politely.

The two stood in awkward silence for a few moments.

"I was rude to you earlier," Eir said abruptly. "I am sorry for it."

"It's alright, lass," Kili tried not to laugh. "I should have wiped my boots before I came in. I promise my mother did take great effort to teach me manners, though I suppose you'd not know it by tonight."

Eir smiled, and there was another awkward pause.

"Uh... has Mr. Baggins agreed to come on the quest?" Kili asked, attempting to break the silence.

"I'm afraid not," said Eir sadly. "Try as we might, he refused to even consider it. Gandalf is disappointed, and so am I. He's been a good friend to me, and I agree with Gandalf; he would have good things to offer the company if he were to come."

"It is well that you are coming, then," said Kili awkwardly, " we'd be out of a burglar if you weren't."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Another awkward pause.

"Would you like some help?" he gestured to the pile of dishes next to the sink.

"If you like," she smiled shyly.

As he rolled up his sleeves, he caught the scent of lavender again. He suddenly felt very nervous, as he'd done when he first walked into Bag End and saw her. He couldn't fathom why – there was nothing intimidating about her at all.

"What time do you plan to leave in the morning?" she asked.

"First light," he said. His mouth felt dry. He snuck a glance at her, watching the way her hair curled around her face from the steam of the hot water in the sink. She really was rather pretty, in a not-so-obvious way.

"Oh." She nodded. "That is sensible. Leaving before then would endanger you. Hobbiton, as you've seen, is quite hilly. There are a few places where people fall if it's dark and they're not careful. Oh," she exclaimed suddenly, making Kili nearly drop a teacup, "I still need to pack! Oh goodness- what on earth do you bring with you on a quest?"

Kili stammered through a list of essentials.

"I'm just going to pop home – the tea should be nearly ready for Oin and Balin – I think there's still some honey left… don't spill the kettle, or you'll scald yourself!" and with that, she pranced out of the room, her brown hair flying out behind her. Kili shook his head, and then turned back to the sink. It suddenly came to him that the kitchen seemed a bit forlorn without her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

But Eir's part in this story very nearly didn't happen at all.

As soon as her parents heard the full account of what she was about, there was uproar.

"You are not traipsing about after these dwarves!" cried her mother. "A woman, alone, traveling with thirteen men! I've never heard the like!"

"But mum, it's not like that – most of them are old enough to be my granddad –"

"Don't be stupid," said Ona, her sister. "You could stay here, get married, have a family -"

"With who? Gorentius Proudfoot? He's so old, I'm surprised he has any teeth left."

"Well, you've been far too picky -"

"Says the girl with a new suitor every month." Eir glared at her sister, who at least had the grace to blush.

"Well, that's not my fault! Maybe if you'd actually made an effort, you'd have been able to keep -"

"Don't you say his name," Eir growled.

"Well, it's your own fault you're alone," Ona said imperiously, tossing golden curls over her shoulder. "You've always had airs and graces, so it's no wonder."

Eir stared coldly at her sister.

"Airs and graces?" she said, her voice dangerously low. "I'll be no man's second choice. I'd rather be alone than second pickings. And," her voice grew stronger, "I want to do more with my life than mind a grocery stall every other day, marry the first fat dandy that asks me and give birth to children sired my a man I have no love or respect for. This quest might allow me to _do_ something with my life!"

"Eir, you're being foolish," said her mother. "That wizard's story has turned your head. Dwarves are greedy, they won't care what happens to you, so long as they get their gold. What makes you think you can trust them? Honestly, you always were prone to flights of fancy -"

"But Mum -"

"Gandalf the wizard is the one who suggested it in the first place. If Eir can't trust Gandalf, she can't trust anyone."

Eir's father finally spoke up. The family turned and looked at him. He was looking at his firstborn daughter with an expression she'd never seen before. He stepped towards her quietly and took a hand in hers.

"Eir, is this truly what you want?" he asked, his voice quiet. He was not asking for any particular answer, Eir knew – all he wanted was the truth from her. She nodded earnestly.

He sighed, scratched his head, put his hands on his hips. He was thinking. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"Well, then, lass, " he looked at his firstborn, and smiled sadly, "we'll miss you." He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead.

Eir stared at him a moment, then threw her arms around her father's neck.

"Thank you, da. Thank you," she whispered.

"Find your own happiness, lass," he father whispered back, giving her a squeeze, "and don't you let it go."

He stepped back.

"May the road rise up to meet you," he said quietly.

Ignoring her mother's outraged shriek, she tied on her cloak, picked up her bag, and walked out the door.

~00000~

When she got back to Bag End, Eir set her bag down next to the long row of hoods and cloaks in the front entry.

Thorin and Balin were having a quiet discussion in the entryway, and she crept quietly by, not wishing to call attention to herself. She already sensed an unvoiced mistrust from Thorin - dwarves were apparently a suspicious bunch, and there had already been tension between her and the leader of the company.

"You don't have to do this, Thorin," Balin was saying. "You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You gave us a new life in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. That is worth more than all the gold in Erabor."

"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me," responded Thorin, his deep voice laced with a quiet stubbornness. It suddenly struck Eir that he sounded terribly sad.

"There isn't a choice, Balin. Not for me."

Balin nodded, knowing it was useless to argue.

Eir tiptoed down the hallway and into Bilbo's front parlor. Several dwarves were gathered there, smoking pipes, and a few meandered from room to room, conversing amongst themselves. Eir took up a small, out-of-the-way chair in the corner and sat, tucking her legs up under herself, listening to snatches of conversation.

A young, wide-eyed dwarf approached her shyly, holding an earthenware mug.

"Miss, er... would you like some tea?"

"I would, master dwarf, thank you," Eir smiled and took the steaming mug from him. Suddenly she realized that the names of the dwarves had quite gone out of her head.

"What was your name?"

"Ori, miss." he blushed.

"Thank you, Ori." she tasted the tea. It was delicious - chamomile laced with honey.

"This is very good. Did you make this?"

Ori blushed even darker.

"No," he said quietly. "My brother, Dori- " he gestured to a grey-haired dwarf with an intricately braided beard, who was fussing over another redheaded dwarf with hair divided into three triangular sections.

"Who is that he's talking to?"

"My other brother, Nori. He's a theif," Ori added, a note of naive pride in his voice.

Eir smiled wryly.

"I'll watch my valuables, then."

Ori smiled. "He's not a bad sort of person, really."

Eir looked around the room.

"And that is Fili and Kili." she gestured to the fair-haired dwarf, who as talking to his dark-haired brother, who caught sight of Eir and looked quickly away, blushing.

"Yes, Fili is fair-haired, and Kili is the dark one. They're nephews to Thorin," he said, as though it were a particular mark of distinction.

"Sorry, I'm a bit lost – is that significant in some way?" Eir asked him.

"Don't you know?" Ori looked shocked. "Thorin is the rightful King under the Mountain. That makes Fili and Kili princes."

"Oh." It was Eir's turn to be impressed. "Distinction indeed."

"Oh, yes," Ori gushed, "They've both seen battle, and Kili even knows how to shoot a bow and arrow!" a wistful look settled on his face.

"I wish I could learn how," he said. "But Dori won't let me. He's so protective."

"That's not a bad thing, Ori." Eir said quietly. "There's lots of folks who would envy you that."

Ori looked at her curiously, but Eria quickly changed the subject.

"So," she said, suddenly business like, "who else?"

"Bombur," Ori pointed out a particularly rotund dwarf with a long, braided beard that lay in a loop across his paunch, "and his cousin, Bofur," a dwarf in a fur-lined hat with flaps that stuck out like rabbit's ears lit a pipe, "and his brother Bifur." Ori pointed to a dwarf with white streaks in his hair and beard, and an ax embedded in his skull. He was working on a small carving of a bird, a faraway look in his eye.

"Ori," she said quietly, "is that -"

"An ax, yes. He was attacked by an Orc, it seems, and it would have done him more harm than good to pull it out, so they left it in. Poor chap can only speak Khuzdul now, though."

"Khuzdul?"

"Dwarvish language."

"Goodness… is he… I mean, is he… alright? I mean, does it hurt?"

"He'll look a bit lost every so often, but when it comes to fighting, he's as fierce as anyone!"

"His injury doesn't prevent him?"

"Oh, he's perfectly alright, miss!" Dori had come to stand by his brother and had caught the last few minutes of their conversation.

"I met him when he was his old self, before his accident - a gentler dwarf you couldn't hope to find. He and his cousin were two of a kind, except Bofur does tend to – well, his humor can be a bit, er, _colorful,_ if you take my meaning. Bifur wouldn't stand for it – he was always slappin' his brother upside the head. But he's a gentle soul still, in his way."

"Who?" called Dwalin.

"We are speaking of Bifur!" Dori called back.

"Bifur? Oh, a fine dwarf - he's the best damn cusser I ever met. Knows more fine swear words than anyone this side of the river Eisen. Where he picked 'em up, I don't know, cos the poor bastard weren't like that before - oh, pardon me verbage, miss," he said, noticing Eir, who only laughed.

"Bifur's an excellent warrior, too. You'll want him on your side in a fight," he said. "There's times I don't think he knows when to stop."

Bifur looked up from his pipe and said something in dwarvish. His expression was kind.

"He's sayin' it's nice to meet you, and that he is at your service." Ori whispered, translating.

Eir smiled at him.

"Please to make your acquaintance."

Bifur put his hand over his heart and nodded deeply.

"And we have Dwalin and Balin," said Ori.

"Yes, I've met them. I like Balin very much. He reminds me of my granddad when he was alive."

Ori smiled. "Yes, Mr. Balin is very wise."

"And who are the other two?"

"Oin and Gloin. Oin is our medic – I've never seen any injury or sickness he can't put to rights. And Gloin is our treasurer – he's got a head for figures, that one, so he'll make sure the budget is in order and that shares of spoils are divided properly."

Eir nodded. "That is smart to have – I'm terrible with numbers," she said, laughing at herself.

By this time, Gandalf and the company had seated themselves in Mr. Baggins' front parlor.

"I have a great desire for a song!" spoke up one of the dwarves. The others nodded in agreement. Oin fixed his eyes on Eir.

"Do you know any songs, lass?" he asked.

"Why of course!" she answered brightly.

"Would you sing for us?" Ori asked her shyly.

The dwarves cheered. Gandalf beamed. Eir turned slightly pink at being singled out. She looked at Bilbo, who nodded encouragingly.

She thought a moment, and then sang:

_Upon the hearth the fire is red, _

_Beneath the roof there is a bed; _

_But not yet weary are our feet, _

_Still round the corner we may meet _

_A sudden tree or standing stone _

_That none have seen but we alone. _

Gandalf and the dwarves listened contemplatively, staring into the fire and smoking their pipes as she sang. Kili watched her, noting that a pleasant expression had come over her, as though the song were long-loved of her and her kin. It was a lilting, country melody, and her clear, sweet voice filled the company with warmth. Kili's heart nearly stopped at the sound of it.

_Still round the corner there may wait_

_A new road or a secret gate_

_And though we pass them by today,_

_Tomorrow we may come this way _

_And take the hidden paths that run _

_Towards the Moon or to the Sun. _

She broke off, leaving the last note hanging in the air. No one spoke for a few moments.

"I say," muttered Gandalf, though the whole room heard him, "we have quite the songbird in our company!"

Kili could not but agree. But it was strange – she'd seemed friendly enough, but hardly said a word throughout the entire time at Bag-End. Yet, here she was, singing for a rag-tag group of dwarves who were only this side of strangers.

Eir turned slightly pink from the praise, and then insisted that the dwarves share a song too.

"Ah, miss, we've got no songs so gentle as yours," started Nori.

"No, I absolutely insist! Dwarvish songs are legendary," she said, settling her chin in her hands, as though a child might do when they are expecting a bedtime story.

Thorin looked around at the dwarves. A few shuffled nervously.

"Well," said Thorin, "shall we sing her The Song of the Lonely Mountain?" The dwarves agreed, and began to hum a short, low introduction. Thorin started first, and the other dwarves joined in:

_Far over the misty mountains cold  
>To dungeons deep, and caverns old<br>We must away ere break of day  
>To seek the pale enchanted gold.<em>

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_  
><em>While hammers fell like ringing bells<em>  
><em>In places deep, where dark things sleep,<em>  
><em>In hollow halls beneath the fells.<em>

_For ancient king and elvish lord,_  
><em>There many a gleaming golden hoard<em>  
><em>They shaped and wrought, and light they caught<em>  
><em>To hide in gems on hilt of sword.<em>

_On silver necklaces they strung_  
><em>The flowering stars, on crowns they hung<em>  
><em>The dragon-fire, in twisted wire<em>  
><em>They meshed the light of moon and sun.<em>

_Far over the misty mountains cold_  
><em>To dungeons deep and caverns old<em>  
><em>We must away, ere break of day,<em>  
><em>To claim our long-forgotten gold.<em>

_Goblets they carved there for themselves_  
><em>And harps of gold; where no man delves<em>  
><em>There lay they long, and many a song<em>  
><em>Was sung unheard by men or elves.<em>

_The pines were roaring on the height,_  
><em>The winds were moaning in the night.<em>  
><em>The fire was red, it flaming spread;<em>  
><em>The trees like torches blazed with light.<em>

_The bells were ringing in the dale_  
><em>And men looked up with faces pale;<em>  
><em>Then dragon's ire more fierce than fire<em>  
><em>Laid low their towers and houses frail.<em>

_The mountain smoked beneath the moon;_  
><em>The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.<em>  
><em>They fled their hall to dying fall<em>  
><em>Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.<em>

_Far over the misty mountains grim_  
><em>To dungeons deep and caverns dim<em>  
><em>We must away, ere break of day,<em>  
><em>To win our harps and gold from him!<em>

Eir listened with goosebumps. She was deeply moved by the song. There was so much more detail in this telling than in the quick version that Balin had given earlier – she could feel the heat from the fire-drake on her face, hear the pines creaking and cracking in the hot, dry wind that accompanied the dragon Smaug. Bofur had been right – this was a great calamity. They had established themselves as expert craftsmen from mighty empire, and in a matter of moments had been reduced to nothing; they'd had to scrape by in the Iron Hills and in the towns of men, taking work where they could find it.

But it hadn't been just dwarves, either. Men, women, and children in the city of Dale had been victims of the beast's terror, too – their home had also been destroyed. Two kingdoms, with all of their success and progress, laid to utter waste.

As the last few notes hung in the air, Eir found her eyes prickled with tears.

The room was silent for a minute, and then Eir sniffled a bit.

"Can't think how you can sit there with dry eyes," she said, reaching for a handkerchief. "I'm sorry that all of this happened to you. Truly, I am."

Fili smiled wryly.

"There will be no more cause to weep after we've taken back our homeland, Miss Blomgren."

There was a gentle murmuring of agreement between the dwarves, and Dori raised his teacup and called out, "here, here!"

At this, Gandalf announced that it was time to turn in. Dwarves began to lay out bedrolls here and there on whatever stretch of floor they could find.

"Lass?"

Eir turned, and saw Fili, Kili, and Ori watching her.

"We, er… we've saved you a place near the fire," said Ori sheepishly.

Eir was surprised – they had seemed so suspicious, dwarves, but now they were giving her one of the choicest sleeping spots, near the warm embers of the fire.

"Ori, are you sure? I'm certain there's other dwarves who'd benefit from one last night of comfort –"

"Oh, no, lass," Fili said. "We insist!"

Deciding that good manners dictated that she accept, she thanked them quietly and lay down. They insisted that she take their blankets as well, and soon Eir was wrapped up in a cozy little nest of blankets and pillows.

"Now," she admonished, "I won't have you spoiling me like this when we're on our quest. You are to treat me just as you would any other member of the company."

Dori, who had heard these proceedings, merely laughed.

"Lass, you don't know much about dwarves, do you?"

Eir swallowed.

"Pardon?"

"We treasure our womenfolk," explained Balin patiently, "for dwarf women are rare. You'll have to allow us some genteel liberties, my dear; some of us old ones are quite set in our ways. Dwarves do like a bonny face, and yours is a picture, if I may be so bold to say."

He bowed and lay down on his own bedroll.

Eria blushed, and secretly thought the dwarven standards of beauty must have been very charitable indeed.

"Would ya be quiet, some of us are tryin' ta sleep!" said Dwalin fiercely, which put an end to conversation.

Eir lay down on her side. Fili was laying next to her, already asleep and snoring softly. Kili lay at a right angle to them. He smiled when Eir caught his eye.

"Night, lass."

"Night, Kili."

Within minutes, Eir was asleep.


End file.
